Lions, Wolves and Sapphires
by Aletta-Feather
Summary: Series of (connected) one shots mostly about Tyrion and Sansa, but also about Jaime and Brienne, and the Lannister brothers themselves (Jaime meets Bran, for instance). Post season 7. Loosely chronological. First chapter is an introduction. The war in the North is seen from the perspective of Winterfell for most of the story – the war itself does not feature that heavily. Angst.
1. Memories

**Memories**

During their journey North, Jon and Daenerys had become lovers. Tyrion felt ambiguous about it. Love could make them stronger allies, but also made the relationship more fragile. Potentially volatile. Tyrion himself was not looking forward to Winterfell. The Northern Lords had not taken the news kindly and apparently even Sansa was not pleased with her brother's decision. Her bastard brother's decision to bend the knee. Tyrion feared what might happen once they arrived. He hadn't even time to consider he'd be meeting Sansa again. They'd only been married for a short while, but he hadn't forgotten it. The shame of being unable to cloak her; the horror of Joffrey making his 'funny' remarks. And Sansa herself, telling him she might never care for him. She had just been a child, he told himself, a frightened one at that. Still, it had stung, though the fact that the marriage had been unconsummated had helped in convincing Jon that he was trustworthy. Or had it? It had been a very awkward conversation, as all such conversations were.

Jaime had told him that Olenna had confessed to poisoning Joffrey. Not Sansa after all. Not that he'd really doubted that, but still. Talk of how she'd killed that husband of hers had made him wonder. Perhaps there was more to her than met the eye. She had left him behind. She had ran and he'd been imprisoned. Tyrion had not felt too angry about it at the time, but it had been a betrayal of sorts. Still, that was all in the past now. The immediate future brought larger problems than Lady Sansa. Or so he thought.


	2. Peacocks

**Peacocks**

They had been at Winterfell for a week. The Northern Lords had not revolted but only because of the immense threat. None of them had truly warmed up to Daenerys, least of all the Stark women. Jon, on the other hand, was positively enraptured. Both him and the Dragon Queen rode dragons now, as Rhaegal had accepted Jon as a rider.

As Tyrion stood to the edge of a field where they'd both return from one of their raids, burning as many wights as they possibly might, without getting in the range of the Night King's spears, he noticed Sansa waiting too. When two dragons appeared like little dots in the sky, she turned towards him. Her eyes were cold and she had a testy expression on her face. Tyrion braced for the worst.

"They are very impressive," Sansa said, as she looked at the approaching beasts. "In a flaunting sort of way. Like peacocks. She is like that too."

"I get the distinct feeling you don't approve," Tyrion said, looking up at her.

Sansa shrugged. "I prefer wolves," she said. "That's all."

"Wolves are good too," he said. "Can't disagree with that."

Sansa shook her head and smirked at him. "I'd thought you'd prefer lions," she ventured, "shouldn't you?"

Tyrion grimaced. "I think I've sort of thrown that preference away when I…. when I left King's Landing."

"When you killed your father," she said, not mincing her words.  
He nodded, his jaw set.

She peered at him. "I won't judge you," she said. "I didn't know him very well, but I know what it's like when someone constantly…. Taunts you."

"You've chosen the right word for it," Tyrion said. "Taunting, something my family is particularly good at."

She smiled bitterly. "You don't say," she said. "I still dream about Joffrey sometimes. Him and Ramsey too. Between those two, well, I prefer being a widow."

"I understand, my Lady," he said. "I too have been unlucky in love."

Sansa blushed and her eyes darkened. Too late he realize how those words must have sounded to her. He grabbed her hand before she could walk away.

"I don't mean you," he said, his voice strong and determined. "Our marriage was arranged by others without our knowledge or consent." She tried to get loose, but he held on, just so she would hear him out. "I was referring to Shae's betrayal and to someone else. Another woman, before her."

"Would you kindly let me go, Lord Tyrion?" she said, her eyes spitting fire.

"Yes, of course," he said, deflated, as she slipped through his fingers. "I'm no longer a Lord. If I ever was one."

Sansa had left before the dragons touched the ground. Tyrion watched her go. Why did his mouth have to run away with him at the most inopportune moments?


	3. Winter Wedding

**Winter Wedding**

The wedding ceremony had been beautiful yet Sansa could not help feeling hurt. Bitter. Jon got to marry the love of his life when he'd been a bastard and a man of the Night's Watch. She had been married to two monsters. One in appearance, the other at heart. It was hard not to feel jealous, even on a beautiful bright day such as this.

Half way through the feast, she couldn't take it anymore. She whispered to her sister that she would get some air. Clear her head, avoid this coming headache. Only when she was near the Godswood did she feel slightly better. Just to be alone for a while.

She didn't notice him at first. He was quite small after all. "Don't be startled," she heard him say when she did see a shape moving. "Just me looking for some peace and quiet."

"I had the same idea," she said. "It's too warm in there. Too warm and…"

"Happy?" he said. It was almost eerie how he could read her mind, she thought. Sansa decided not to brush him off this time. She nodded and bit her lip.

"I don't want to be jealous," she said, shaking her head, "but I still am."

"You are not the only one," he replied. "You can be assured of that." She looked at him, wondering. He must have noticed because he said: "Why are you peering at me like that, Lady Sansa?"

"Do you think…." She began, but decided against it. "Never mind. I'm just being silly."

"Ah," he said. "Sometimes I think about how life could have gone very differently. I, sometimes…" He paused for a moment. "I've often wondered what it would be like to be a father. Would I enjoy it? Mayhaps I would, but what if I did not? What if the child disliked me? So much possibilities…."

She smiled. "When I was young," she said, and he interrupted her. "You are still young, my Lady." Sansa scowled at him. "When I was _younger_ ," she replied testily, "I thought I would be a mother by now. Have a whole bunch of Northern children. Or perhaps little Southern princes." She laughed harshly. "How daft I was. A head filled with silly girl dreams."

"Life takes strange turns sometimes," Tyrion said, "like a river. Unpredictable. Sometimes calm and peaceful, sometimes roaring and fierce, and sometimes, it kills."

"I think…." Sansa said, too candidly, she knew. Perhaps it was the silence of the Godswood. Perhaps it was the very gods themselves. "It already has. The river has killed me. The me that was. When Lady died, it was the beginning of the end."

"It's that bad, is it?" He softly asked. Sansa couldn't hold back her tears anymore. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, it is."

* * *

Tyrion was at a loss. She had never allowed him to comfort her when they were married. He stretched out his hand and carefully stroke her back, her long red hair, barely touching her at all. Sansa did not protest. She softly sniffled and he tried to think of encouraging words. Why did he have to get tongue tied when it mattered most? "I'm sorry," he finally whispered. "I wish I could help."

She used her hands to dry her tears. "You are kind," she said. "But I must travel this road alone."

Tyrion could not disagree. There was only so much people could do for one another, he reflected. No one could truly carry someone else's burden.

"Sansa," he said as she was walking away. "I am your friend. Do remember that." She did not reply and, for a moment, he thought she hadn't heard him. But then she turned around, facing him, and said: "Thank you, Tyrion. I will." He nodded firmly at her and she gave him a weak smile in return.


	4. Arrival

**Arrival**

A host of Lannister forces had arrived at the gate with Jaime Lannister as their Commander. His arrival caused both joy and anger. Sansa was of the latter persuasion, but her protector Brienne was not. Her eyes had all but shone at the sight of him. It had created a slight rift in their friendship.

Sansa had hoped Bran would rile at him, or Arya at the very least. But somehow they all seemed to accept that the war they were engaged in right now, was of more importance. Sansa only half agreed. She couldn't kill him, not like Ramsey, but she sure would like to frighten him a little. Ensure that he did not feel at home. The smugness of the Lannisters was getting to her. It seemed to her they were taking over Winterfell itself. Wherever she looked there were bloody golden Lions, helmets or hair.

When she noticed both Tyrion and Jaime laughing loudly next to a fire, warming their hand(s), as if they had not a care in the world, she could no longer stand it. "Are we enjoying ourselves?" she said. "Leeching of our home and hearth?"

"Leeching?!" Jaime replied sharply whereas Tyrion shot her a dark glance. "Sansa…" the latter said, warningly, but she paid him no heed.

"My siblings may have forgotten all about the last time you were here, for propriety's sake, but as I recall," she said, "my little brother wasn't a cripple back then…. Brienne may think the world of you, but you won't fool me as easily."

"I was the one who sent Brienne in the first place," Jaime hissed, but Sansa huffed at that. "My mother did," she said, "and Brienne would have searched for us regardless, with or without your help."

Jaime smirked at her. "The Seven forbid I might be good for anything at all," he said, not impressed by her outburst. "You forgot to sneer and call me Kingslayer…"

Sansa did not care about the king he slew. "Don't imagine yourself safe here," she said. "Perhaps you'll lose your footing one day. That would be justice."

She swept away not waiting for his response.

* * *

"Did you hear that?!" his brother said to him. "The little she-wolf!"

Tyrion shrugged. "So she has a temper," he said. "Don't let it bother you."

"Don't let it bother me?" Jaime's eyes grew wide. "You did hear her make threats?"

"Wolves that bark don't bite," he said.

Jaime shook his head. "She set his own dogs on that Bolton bastard. If anything happens to me, she will pay for it!" He stalked of angrily.

Tyrion sighed. Jaime had a hard time being here, he thought, though he got along quite well with that blond woman that always wore armor. Brienne.

The last thing Tyrion needed was his brother and his former wife starting a feud. I better talk to her, he thought. Calm her down a little. Though that might be easier said than done.

* * *

"He sent you, did he?" Sansa said, glaring at him from behind her table. Maps were laid out on them, maps and drawings too. She snatched a few away before he could see them. "To do his bidding for him?"

"Jaime doesn't know I'm here," Tyrion said. "He probably won't even like it."

"He threw a child from a tower and no one cares," she said bitterly. "Not even Bran himself. He isn't himself anymore."

"Has Bran forgiven him?" Tyrion asked. Sansa shrugged. "Who knows what Bran knows or thinks," she said. "He is with his head in the clouds all day."

"I think," Tyrion ventured, "I think Jaime wants to do the right thing, and I also think that you should let him. What happened to Bran was unfortunate…"

"Unfortunate?" she said. "Unfortunate?! It was an attempted murder of a child. Not of an enemy, not of a White Walker, or a Wight or some wretched beast. Of a child!"

Tyrion briefly closed his eyes. "I know," he said. "It's not something to be proud of."

"No, it's not," she said, huffing. "And Jon and Arya, and Brienne too. They just don't care. Like it didn't even happen."

"What do you want him to do?" Tyrion said. "Walk around with a miserable face all day? Do some sort of penance? You should let him do what he does best. Fight. Fight for us all. Perhaps he will die and you'll think better of him then."

"I don't want him to walk around like he owns Winterfell," Sansa muttered. "With that smug look and a constant grin. He has no right to. He should be humble."

"A humble Lannister is like a…. bird without wings. It won't happen."

"Maybe his wings should be clipped," she said angrily. "That would teach him."

"Maybe his wings already have been clipped," Tyrion defended his brother. "He's had his share of hardship too."

"Mayhaps," Sansa said. "I don't trust him and I won't change my mind."

"If you hurt him, Sansa," Tyrion said, "you will regret it."

She narrowed her eyes. "What happened to 'I'm your friend, Sansa?'" she said icily.

"Family trumps friendship," Tyrion said simply.

"Indeed," she replied. "That's precisely how I feel."


	5. Falling to your fate

**Falling to your fate**

"She's avoiding us," Tyrion said.

Jaime didn't mind. "I'm glad of it," he said, but then he saw Tyrion's face. "Oh," he said. "You're not."

They were drinking wine, laughing, and sharing stories of their childhood – it involved an outrageous amount of stolen wine and peeking at maids taking a dip in the water - tucked away in a corner of the Great Hall, when Tyrion had noticed Sansa at the other end of the room.

"I.." Tyrion said, "You get to go on raids and get away from here. I have to stay put and it helps to have friends. She hasn't said a word to me since…"

"I honestly don't see why you should care," Jaime replied, "not unless…." Tyrion tried to avoid his gaze. "Oh," Jaime said again, much softer this time. "That's how it is, is it?"

"I wish it wasn't," Tyrion muttered unhappily. "I saw a rose in the Godswood and thought about laying it on her pillow."

Jaime rolled his eyes at him. "Isn't that a sign of true love?" he said. "Perhaps I should pluck it myself…"

"I saw it first," Tyrion snapped at him. "It's a sole blue winter rose, the very same kind that Rhaegar gave to Lyanna."

"You've got it bad," Jaime said. "I didn't think it possible again."

"Neither did I," Tyrion said. "It's damn infuriating."

"I can imagine," Jaime said.

* * *

When Jaime strolled through the hallways of Winterfell the following morning, Sansa crossed his path. He was just about to walk around a corner into another corridor: the very one she'd just come out of. "The Lady of Winterfell," he said, with a touch of a sneer, "may I enter safely or have you laid a trap for me?"

Sansa glared at him. "Of course, I haven't," she hissed.

"My brother wanted to bring some flower in the Godswood to your attention," he said offhandedly. "You might want to ask him about it."

Her grumble did not make him any wiser. Poor Tyrion, he thought. "He doesn't like you avoiding him," he called after her, and he'd have sworn she made a very un-lady like gesture at that remark.

* * *

Jaime had begun to worry about Bran when he first approached Winterfell. He'd heard strange tales about this boy, who'd be a man by now, along the way. The Three-eyed raven he was called. The Seer of the Unseen. It was all rather startling and confusing. Still, he brought an army with him and he came in peace. Surely that should account for something? If the Dragon Queen could accept his presence, the Starks should be able to as well. That's what he kept telling himself anyhow.

On the very first night, when he was just about to go to bed, to sleep beneath its furs, there'd been a knock on his door. It was Bran, seated in his chair with wheels. Shocked, Jaime had bade him to come in.

"I saw you arrive," Bran had said, as Jaime closed the door behind him.

"With your third eye?" Jaime quipped nervously in return.

Bran looked at him serenely, "with that one I saw you leave," he said, "leave your Queen and sister."

The unspoken word – lover – had hung in the air between them.

"I…" Jaime had stammered, unsure of what to say.

"I couldn't remember what had happened for a long time," Bran said, "and then the wolf dreams began and I could walk once more. Run even and climb too."

Jaime had looked puzzled at that, and Bran had explained. "As a Warg," he'd said, "inside of my wolf I could run and hunt and scout. Then I got this gift," he paused for a moment, "seeing everything. One of the first things I did, was find the day of the accident. You see, I'd never fallen or slipped before."

Jaime nodded with a lump in his throat. "And then you saw," he whispered.

"And then I saw," Bran acknowledged.

"Do you wish me to leave Winterfell?" Jaime offered. "I'd understand."

Bran shrugged. "My mother set you free," he said.

"It was a desperate move on her part," Jaime told him.

"It did set things in motion," Bran had said with a far-off look on his face.

"I wouldn't know," Jaime said. "Why are you here?" he finally asked. "If not for revenge or an apology?"

"Bran no longer exists," he said. "The boy that was Bran is just one of many that I see now. There is no need to apologize; you wouldn't to a dead person, would you?"

"I might," Jaime said, a frown on his face. "You're not dead. You're right here."

Bran smiled at him. "I am and I am not," he said. "You may stay here. You are meant to be here. I think…"

"I am sorry," he said, as the boy that was now a man, was rolling his chair around, facing the door. "I shouldn't have done it. I am far too impulsive sometimes."

Bran already had his hand on the door handle. "It was fate," he said. "Fate guides us all. The strong and the weak. The dumb, the daft, the climbing little boys and the men that push them."

And with that he left, leaving Jaime to his thoughts.

His first night at Winterfell, Jaime did not sleep at all.


	6. A Pale Rose

**A pale rose**

Sansa saw Tyrion sitting in a secluded corner of the Godswood. He seems to be hiding, she thought irritably. What did he want of her? She was intrigued but mostly angry at Jaime's remark. "He thinks he can order me around," she muttered. "Stupid Lannister."

"Is that how you greet a former husband?" Tyrion said cheerfully. "Stupid Lannister?" He grinned at her, though there was something else in his eyes too.

"I wasn't referring to you," she spat. "As you well know…"

"You're right," he said, "I don't consider myself to be stupid. I'm rather well-read as _you_ know and my eye caught this…. It's hidden beneath the ivy, do you see?" Delicately he plucked some ivy away to reveal the palest rose Sansa had ever seen.

"I didn't know they grew here," she whispered, as her fingers softly caressed the rose, and she sat down next to him.

"It reminds me of you," Tyrion said. "Pale, delicate, but strong and hardy too."

Sansa didn't know if she should scowl or be pleased. "I'll take it as a compliment," she said, non-committedly. "Your brother said you didn't want me to avoid you…."

"I don't," Tyrion said. "Can we not just let bygones be bygones? Bran seems to be able to."

"Bran is…." She sighed. "He doesn't feel anything anymore," she lamented. "Not anger, not pity, not happiness, nothing! It's eerie."

"He came to see Jaime…" Tyrion said. "On the first night he was here, Jaime said."

"He did?" Sansa said, "Bran didn't tell us."

Tyrion shrugged. "Perhaps he didn't think it was needed."

"And?" Sansa said, "Or didn't Jaime tell you?"

"Apparently Bran talked a lot about being the three eyed raven and about fate. How everything was fate."

Sansa looked grim at that. "Even if things are fate, we still choose," she said. "He chose to do this, fate or not."

"I know," Tyrion said. "He did. He's also apologized to Bran and there isn't anything he can do to make it better other than give all he can in the war. And he did gave Brienne her sword to defend you with."

"I know," Sansa said reluctantly. "I'm just so angry all the time and I thought it was because of him. That smug face. But maybe it isn't…."

"Maybe it's Joffrey?" Tyrion wondered, "or Ramsey…?"

She nodded. "Or both," she said. "And Cersei. She doesn't care if the whole world falls, as long as she can sit on some stupid throne made out of swords…"

"Maybe it's because we're the only Lannisters here," Tyrion said, a little melancholic. "I wish there was something I could do," he said defiantly, "that I could make you see things differently. Or rather…" he stopped.

Sansa urged him to go on, but he shook his head. "What is it?" she said. "What do you wish, Tyrion?"

He didn't reply. He looked pained, Sansa thought. Why should he be upset? He had no reason to.

Finally, he sighed heavily and said: "I wish I could do something, anything, to make you happy."

"That's kind of you," she said. "You've always been kind to me."

Tyrion blushed at that, she noticed. "You deserved better than how you were treated," he said. "I'm ashamed about how my relatives treated you."

"It's in the past," she said, getting up. "Perhaps we should leave it at that."

"I think it's for the best," Tyrion said and she nodded at him before she walked away.


	7. Brienne

**Brienne**

Sansa noticed Brienne was biting her fingernails again and not listening to her at all. She always did so when Jaime was away. It seemed as if the war was endless. For every group of wights and white walkers that got killed others simply took their place; it was not a war they were winning yet. More and more talk of the need for another Azor Ahai was spreading. Sansa didn't like it much. As inspiring as the tale might be, it was also defeatist. What if another never came? They would still need to keep fighting. The North was lit alight with fires everywhere to keep holdfast and villages safe, yet even that did not always have the desired effect.

"I'm sure he will return," she said impatiently, wanting Brienne to pay attention to the matter at hand. "We were going to establish a ration for the troops. Hearty meals for the soldiers but with an eye on our provisions too."

Brienne apologized and was quite helpful for a minute or two before eyes got all glazy again. Sansa was tempted to just send her away and do it herself.

"I'm quite sure he is not behaving like this whenever _you_ are on a raid," she said sternly. "I'll keep an eye on it next time your name gets drawn – on the most dangerous of raids this had become the custom so as to avoid muttering about fairness – and his doesn't." And so she did.

* * *

Sansa had been stalking Jaime for two days before she approached him. He did seem less his exuberant cocky self with Brienne out there fighting and so she'd decided to engage him in a conversation. "Jaime Lannister," she called out, before she stood next to him. He was watching the youngest children practice; the ones who did not yet fought in the war but still had to be trained. "Sansa Stark," he said, inclining his head, "have you come to threaten me again?"

"No," she replied, irritated. "Tyrion wouldn't like it." Nor Brienne, she thought.

"I've come to give you some advice."

"You have, have you?" he said, laughing at her.

"Yes," she said, "On behalf of a friend. Or rather on my own behalf, so she can finally become herself again." Jaime began to redden. Sansa smirked and said as she leant forward towards him: "You see, I believe Brienne loves you and it's about time you did something about it."

He opened his mouth but no words came out. Sansa raised her eyebrows. He coughed. Sansa rolled her eyes, and continued. "When you're away, she is fidgety and just, well, worried sick, I suppose. Gods know why…. But there it is."

"And what would you suggest I do?" Jaime finally said.

"My father had a Sept built especially for my mother," she said. "I'm sure the Septon would love to have a wedding tucked in between all those funerals." There had been quite a few casualties lately. The Septon handled the Lannister forces mostly as the Northerners and Wildlings followed the old gods.

"You're not one to mince your words, are you?" he replied, a little shaken.

Sansa shrugged, before she turned around to go about her business. "I stopped being so polite a while ago," she said. "I don't really see the point anymore."

"Clearly," Jaime said.

* * *

Her words echoed in his mind throughout the day and even when he laid down at night. _Brienne loves you_ , he heard over and over again. _The Septon would love to have a wedding. Brienne loves you. When you're away, she is worried sick._ He tossed and turned and couldn't sleep. Had Brienne confided in Sansa? Or had it simply been so obvious? He guessed the latter. Brienne wasn't one to hold secrets, too much like an open book sometimes. It was what he loved about her. Her frank openness, her inability to lie or manipulate. So unlike most people that he knew.

Do something about it, he whispered to himself. Easier said than done, Sansa Stark…. Easier said than done.

* * *

When Brienne had returned safe and sound a few days later, Jaime kept seeing Sansa in the corner of his eyes. I'm beginning to behave like Tyrion, he thought. Stark women haunting me wherever I go. When he saw Sansa talk to Brienne at dinner that night and he realized they were looking into his direction, he began to sweat. Surely she would not be telling Brienne something similar? Since when had these Starks turned into interfering bitches? How about since always? A nagging voice in the back of his mind told him. After dinner, he immediately snatched Brienne away from her Stark influence. "Let's go for a stroll," he said. "Outside of the castle."

"Do take a torch with you," Sansa told them and he glared at her. Of course, they would.

"Brienne," he said, as they were walking in the solitude of the woods surrounding Winterfell, "do you and Sansa ever talk about me?"

She frowned at him, her big blue eyes puzzled.

"She noticed that I'm anxious when you're gone," she said after a while, "she might have mentioned that."

"That she would have," he said, with a strained voice. "She advised me to, well, to tell you how I feel."

"That was rather presumptive of her!" Brienne said, her eyes growing even larger.

"That it is," Jaime laughed nervously, "then again, she is a Stark. It's in their blood. She even mentioned a Sept." He didn't look Brienne in the eyes when he said that.

"I don't know if I should be disappointed _in_ or proud _of_ her," Brienne said, not meeting his eyes either, pondering and then decisively, "the latter I think."

"Proud?" Jaime said. "Why on earth would you be proud?"

Brienne shrugged. "It must have cost her quite a bit. To set aside her own feelings like that. For my sake. For yours even."

Jaime hadn't considered that. He had figured Sansa was enjoying his discomfort about the situation, but perhaps she truly had meant to help. Not so much him, but her friend Brienne.

"What did you think?" Brienne guessed his mind already.

"That she wanted to make me squirm…." he said. "That she was laughing at me."

Brienne shook her head. "And you think _I'm_ distrustful and uptight," she said, a smile on her lips.

"Oh, you are!" he said. "You didn't trust me for the longest time…"

She scoffed. "You were my prisoner," she said haughtily, "and a highly distrustful one at that."

"As prisoners are meant to," he said. "I was being true to my role. True to my kind."

Brienne laughed. "You were indeed," she said.

When their stroll had nearly ended and the gates of Winterfell were looming over them already, he planted the torch into the snow, and stopped her by grabbing her hand. "So how about it?" he said. "Should we take her up on her offer and use the Sept for a certain ceremony?"

"Are you asking me to marry you?" Brienne said, biting her lip.  
"It would appear that way, yes," he replied. "I am asking you, Brienne."

"But Cersei…" she said. "She is still alive… She will be livid."

"All the better," Jaime said. "She wanted to see me dead. Hearing of my betrothal will sure set her teeth on edge."

"You know I would very much like to," Brienne replied. "I will have to inform my father though."

His eyes narrowed. "What do you think he would say? The Kingslayer for his daughter…?"

Brienne smiled. "He'd given up on me ever finding a husband," she said. "I don't think he'll have many objections. I do want to insist on one thing though," she continued. "If I am to be your wife, it will not be the end of my days in the field fighting. If you suspect that, you are very much mistaken."

"I thought no such thing," he ensured her.

"Good," she said, her eyes narrowing. "None of that: we have to protect the frail womenfolk."

"You are less frail than me," Jaime replied, "as you well know. I take it it's a yes then?"

Brienne smiled at him. "Of course, it is," she replied, scowling. "How could you even doubt that?!"

"I'm not doubting anything," he bickered. "You hadn't agreed yet."

They passed the gates hand in hand and saw people whispering as they did. Jaime had only eyes for her though. She'd never looked this radiant before. Perhaps marriage would agree with her.


	8. Wishes

AN: Thanks for reading and reviewing!

 **Wishes**

At the same time, as Jaime and Brienne were in the woods, Tyrion sought out Sansa. Jaime had told him of their conversation. She was pouring over papers again; apparently this was about supplies. Tyrion wondered if he might help – he had been Master of Coin – but that was not why he was here. "Do you remember…." He began, "back when we were married, you told me that courtesy is a woman's armor."

Sansa smiled at him. "My Septa taught me that," she said, "Why do you ask?"

"From what I hear from Jaime," he continued, "you no longer adhere to that philosophy."

Now she laughed, quite loud. "You're right," she said, cheerfully. "I left my armor behind in the South. Are you very disappointed?"

"No," he replied. "No, actually I'm not. I rather prefer it, to be honest, but it was somewhat disconcerting."

"I have changed rather a lot over the years," Sansa said, her eyes becoming a little cooler. "I don't wish to be a pawn any longer."

Tyrion nodded. "I understand," he said. "I thoroughly disliked that too."

"Jon," she said. "Jon thinks Arya and I should make suitable matches."

"But you're not inclined to," he gathered.

She smiled. "No, I'm not, and Arya….. well, she certainly isn't."

* * *

Tyrion knew he shouldn't – he really should not – but he dared asked the question. "Who would you… marry?" he asked. "Or rather, what characteristics should a husband of yours possess?"

"Oh," Sansa said, "well, other than the usual… You know, coming from a good decent House, politically helpful and so on…"

"It goes without saying," Tyrion agreed. "No, I'm interested in what you'd want…"

"I'm only answering if you do too," she suddenly said. "Otherwise, it's unfair."

"Very well," he replied. "Ladies first."

A thinking frown appeared on her brow. "He should be…" she said carefully, "The most important thing is…." She sighed. "It's not that easy," she said, her face falling. "I've not yet come across it, I don't think."

"A person may dream," he whispered. "Even if it doesn't ever happen."

She smiled at him. "Aye," she said. "He would care for and respect me," she said. "It should go without saying but often it doesn't. He'd be kind, not too much of a temper but strong as well. Knowing his own mind. Honorable, but not naïve. Mostly though, he would listen, not brush me off."

Tyrion nodded. "A modest list," he said, "yet also not."

"Indeed," Sansa sighed. "Being respected is rare enough."

"He doesn't have to be knight anymore," he gathered. "Nor all that handsome?"

Sansa blushed. "I wouldn't mind him being handsome," she said, "but it's not the first on my list anymore."

* * *

"You have changed," he said, not unkind. "My turn."

"Please," she said, "what makes your heart stir?" Sansa teased.

You, he thought, but didn't say so out loud. "Apart from the usual," he said. "House alliances and so on…" She waved them away. "Apart from that," she agreed.

"She would have to…." He sighed. "She would need to respect me without pitying me," he said. "That may be the most important. She'd have to…. like my wits."

Sansa laughed. "Would she need to have your love of wine?" she said, "a similar appetite?"

"Perhaps not as becoming in a woman," he acknowledged. "Though I wouldn't blame her either."

"Not all women think it's becoming in a man either," Sansa pointed out.

He coughed. "I'm aware of that," he said. "Yet life is too short to live austerely. Like…. like Stannis!" he said. "I could not live like that, nor would I want to."

"Like the Unsullied," Sansa said.

"Or the Starks?" Tyrion ventured.

Sansa shook her head. "I don't think we're like that," she said. "Perhaps a little more used to it, but not so on purpose." She returned to the subject at hand. "So someone who respects you, and loves your sense of humor," she summarized. "What else?"

"My list isn't long," Tyrion said, somewhat bitter. "I've given up on passionate, mindboggling love. I thought…. Long ago, for a while, I thought I had found it. And then….later, there was Shae. I have made the mistake of falling in love with whores once too often."

* * *

Sansa blushed a little. "I…" she said. "You mustn't repeat this to anyone… and I'd deny it for sure, but sometimes I've wondered why…. " She stopped. "No, I shouldn't," she said.

"Do go on, my Lady," he said. "I promise you my lips are sealed."

"Why men should be able to visit whores but women may not…" she said, reddening. "When a man does not marry, or even when he does, he can do as he likes…. But, a woman…"

"Virginity," he said. "Knowing a child is one's own. A true heir, rather than…"

"A bastard."

"Precisely so," he grinned, "but what are you truly saying here, Sansa?"

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head, "forget I mentioned it," but as he urged her to speak she said: "I simply mean… I guess having experience would have helped, maybe… It might have."

"I can't disagree with that," he said, "but I feel obliged to tell you that it's not everything. Whores… They have a way of getting into one's head, and not in a good way. They make you believe they love you when they do not. It's a game. A game that breaks your heart and hurts your purse."

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean rake up bad memories for you."

* * *

"You haven't," he said. "Not really."

"Not being prepared at all isn't good either," she said. "If I were to ever have girls of my own…."

"What would you tell them?" he asked, curious yet cautious.

Sansa frowned. "To protect themselves. If they ever found themselves… That there are worse things than death. That duty does not save you, nor courtesy. That no one will."

"A grim message," he said.

"A true one," Sansa spat. "Unlike the songs and stories."

"You feel betrayed," he gathered.

"Yes," she said. "I do feel betrayed."

"And all this talk of possible matches and betrothals…."

"It's betrayal all over again," she said. "But I won't let him. It won't happen again."

"Perhaps you should talk to Jon about it," he suggested. "You and Arya. Urge him to let you decide for yourself. He might listen."

"He might not," she said.

"I could…" he offered, "talk to him for you, if you want me to."

She frowned. "I don't know…" she said. "It's good of you to offer, but mayhaps I should do it myself."

"Just promise me you will come to me if needs be," he said a little roughly. "I'll have your back."

She smiled at him. "Thank you," Sansa said, "but it should come from me I think."

"I think so too," he said, "but my offer still stands."


	9. A Kiss - Or Two

**A Kiss - or Two**

Brienne was too honorable. She had granted him a kiss but nothing more. "Not until the wedding night," she kept whispering, whenever he brought it up. Jaime did not understand how someone could be so honorable but he respected it. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," he joked whenever she gave him that glare that said: not until after our vows. For someone who was about to marry an oath-breaker, she sure cared a lot about vows.

"Does longing not stir beneath that bosom of yours?" he said when he was in her chambers one afternoon. Three more whole days, he thought. Three long days and nights….

"Of course, it does," she said. "Don't tease me."

"You're the one who is teasing me!" he said.

"As a former member of the King's Guard," she said, in that lecturing voice of hers, "you must have gotten used to celibacy."

"Hah," he said, "now there's the question…. You know the answer to that one as well as me."

Brienne nodded and bit her lip. "What if you don't…." she swallowed hard. "Like it with me?" she whispered, suddenly very interested in the floor.

"Brienne," he said, a little stern and he raised her head with his hand so she had to look at him. "I'm not worried on that account. It may be a little awkward at first, or painful perhaps. We will figure it out, whatever happens. I promise you."

She nodded but also cast down her eyes again. "I'm nowhere near as beautiful as her," she muttered.

Jaime almost wanted to slap the nonsense out of her. How could she think she was less than Cersei?! Brienne of all people…. "Let me tell you a secret," he said. "You know back at Harrenhal, when I said I wasn't interested…?"

Brienne now did glance upwards and she narrowed her eyes. Jaime shrugged. "I lied," he said boldly. "I got quite a few lingering looks at you…."

"I don't believe you," she said, "you were half dead… "

"Even dying men have urges," he said. "Perhaps even more so." She blushed. "And don't think I didn't notice you looking at me neither," he continued, and added: "And to stop you saying such silly things, there is really only one punishment…"

"Punishment?" she whispered.

"Aye," he said, "such a sweet punishment indeed." He cupped her face and kissed her. Long and hard. Afterwards, he said: "No more silliness. Promise me."

"I promise," she said.

"Good," Jaime replied. "And another one to seal your promise." Before Brienne could protest, he kissed her again, slowly pushing her to the wall. He rested his one hand on her breast, softly stroking it through the fabric. He could feel a nipple and pinched it ever so slightly. Brienne's eyes grew wide and he smiled at her. "In a few days," he said, "you'll be in for a treat."

Jaime never could get enough of his intended blushing at him. She was so very good at it too.


	10. Swords

**Swords**

Jaime stood next to her, the Lady of Winterfell, while watching his wife – he had a wife: it was still so foreign to him – as she and Arya were instructing a few girls how to carry swords, and more importantly, how to handle them. "The warriors," he said, smiling. "Your sister is not bad either."

"Not bad?!" Sansa said, peeved, but then she saw him grinning at her and she shook her head.

"Ser Jaime," she said, "How do you take to married life?"

"Very well," Jaime replied. "Very well, indeed."

Sansa nodded, and said, looking at Brienne. "She is very happy, I think."

"I still believe I got the better end out of that bargain," he said, smiling. "It still amazes me she said yes."

"It does?" Sansa asked. "It was pretty clear she cared for you, though."

"Caring for someone… and accepting a proposal…. It's two distinctly different things," he said and then added, though it was somewhat risky, "Tyrion cares for you, you know."

"He's been a really good friend," Sansa said. "I can't deny it. He… He advises me and, there's something ….. hopeful about him. Brienne has it too sometimes."

"I think he has a soft spot for you because you used to be married, however briefly." Jaime didn't dare say anymore – Tyrion might want his head for it.

"I'm not sure," she said, pondering. "I think he wants to forget about the past most of all. There was this woman…. Someone before Shae?" Jaime realized she was probing him.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but if you must know, it will be Tyrion's story to tell," he said.

She seemed a little irritated by his answer, but didn't push the subject. Instead, she started another one.

"Do you think Brienne would teach me too?" she said. "And how much training has Tyrion had?"

"Are you afraid?" he replied. "That Winterfell itself will fall?"

"If it does, I intend to fight until my last breath," she said, gritting her teeth. "I'm afraid it might. It could. The raids don't help nearly enough. I had thought….. I'd assumed we'd be in a better place by now… Strategically."

Jaime nodded. "I'm sure she will," he said. "As for Tyrion, I trained with him a little when he was a child. Father didn't like it and made us stop. Cersei used to laugh at him for even trying."

"Cersei…" she said. "What does she think of you marrying another?"

He shook his head. "You can image that yourself," he said. "She hasn't congratulated me yet."

"Nor will she, I take it," Sansa said. "She's on Arya's list, you know."

"Arya and her list, I did hear something about that…." Jaime said laughing. "I'm not on it, I suppose?"

Sansa shrugged. "You would have been dead already," she said.

Jaime stared at her and then at her sister down below. "You're not joking," he realized.


	11. Love is pain

A/N: Thanks for all the follows, favorites and reviews!

Some angsty-ness up ahead.

* * *

 **Love is pain**

Sansa had spoken to Jon. Arya had stood her ground as well. Jon had not been pleased but had begrudgingly agreed to wait for now. The War was the most important anyhow. Building closer alliances across the North, across Westeros, would not be important if the dead won. It had given Sansa some space to breathe, some time to think. Arya was stubborn and did not want to marry at all. In fact, she'd been disappointed by Brienne saying yes to Jaime.

Sansa was not like her sister. She knew herself well enough for that. She did care about being a Lady. She did care, still, even after Ramsey, about having a husband and sons. The thought of having daughters filled her with fear. Sansa worried if she'd ever be able to fully trust any husband again. Would she be able to trust? And would she trust the right man? Petyr Baelish had not been a very trustworthy advisor either. It seemed to Sansa the world was full of liars and cheats.

Jaime had not wanted to tell her about Tyrion's past. I hadn't truly surprised her. It was not his tale to tell. It puzzled her why she was interested in it some much. Why should she care? It had happened a long time ago and it had nothing to do with her. He is my friend, she thought, I care because he's my friend. She wouldn't let any other thoughts cross her mind and to assure she did not, Sansa decided to look at marriage prospects. Really look.

Healthy and strong Northern bannermen. Not too young, but not too old either. There were quite a few of them – though their number declined with ever raid – as Jon had mentioned when she'd spoken to him. He had made some suggestions but she did not want to consider them.

In the courtyard a few of them were laughing and whispering together. Sansa looked at them from above. They are not Ramsey, she told herself. They're fine young trustworthy men. One of them had lovely blond curls – a bit like Loras had had – and another one big shoulders. He would surely be protective? She shuddered at the thought that he might not be.

Lost in thought as she was, she didn't notice Tyrion until he'd rasped his throat. "Lady Sansa," he said. "I wondered if I might have your ear."

"I… of course," she said and turned sideways towards him. He was not as young as the soldiers down in the courtyard, nor as handsome. Sansa tried not to think of it anymore, yet she realized she was judging him. She was judging Tyrion as a prospect. She shook her head to get rid of the thought.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I was … I took your advice and told Jon not to arrange marriages any time soon. Arya was quite pleased with it too," she said with a smile.

"Yet you were… staring at those strapping men, just now," he pointed out.

Sansa blushed. "Jon named some names, to try and change my mind," she blurted out, "and I thought… I just wondered who they were."

"Did you like what you saw?" he said, his jaw clenched.

"I…" Sansa hesitated. "What worries me the most," she said, "is that you can't tell. Their appearance or their good reputation means nothing. It doesn't tell you anything about their character and that's what matters most."

"It does. As I think my brother and his new wife would attest to." He smiled at her.

"Yes," Sansa said. "Precisely…"

"Love is pain," Tyrion mused. "When you love someone, you might lose them. To death or to life. My father hated me because my birth took his wife's life. He never forgave me for that. To love is to hurt."

"I wouldn't know," Sansa said. "Pain is pain, that's what I know. I have never been with someone I loved." His eyes darkened a little, but Sansa didn't stop. "I thought I loved Joffrey, but it was only the idea of him that I loved, not himself. The same with Loras. I thought I was going to marry him, and then…."

"You married the monster," he said through gritted teeth, "and then you ran away."

"Into the arms of an actual monster," she stated, disregarding his words. "Lord Baelish thought it would be a fine match. I'd live at Winterfell again, and so I did. He turned my home, my house, into a prison. Into the worst dungeon and…." she briefly paused. "His spirit still lingers here. At night, when I wake up, all groggy with sleep, I can hear him laugh. I know it's not real. I hope it's not…."

He softly put his hand on her arm. "Sansa," he whispered. "He is dead. He is gone; he can't hurt you anymore."

She shook her head at him. "But he can. He still does. I…" she gestured at the Bannermen below them. "I can't even look at them without wondering how they might hurt me…. One of them is really… fine-looking, strong, like a knight in the songs. But what if that strength is used against you?!" She almost shrieked and immediately apologized for it. "I shouldn't be bothering you with this," she said, a little more calm. "You came here to ask my help?"

* * *

Tyrion could take a hint as best as the next one, but he chose not to. "Sansa," he said again. "Perhaps we should talk about…. Well, this, and also… I've been meaning to bring up something else."

"That woman you loved?" she asked, curiosity in her eyes.

He frowned. "No, our own marriage." Her face fell. "Our marriage," she whispered.

"Yes," he said. Hold firm, he told himself, you wanted this. "It's been bothering me somewhat lately and if there's anything I've learnt over the years it's to face troubles head on."

"That sounds as if you're angry with me," she said, biting her lip. "Are you?"

Tyrion didn't have the heart to say yes. "It's more like…" he said. "We're now friends of a sort and that means that perhaps it's best we do say these things."

"Whatever things they are," she said, coolly, "not here." She motioned for him to come as they went to the privacy of her own chambers.

After she'd offered him a seat and some wine, Sansa asked him what he wanted. He noticed she did not sit herself, and her whole posture was stiff and anxious. Not the situation he'd intended. Not at all.

"Please sit," he said. "There's no need to be so… so worried."

"I'm not worried," she said. "I just prefer standing."

"Very well," Tyrion replied. "If you must."

Her eyes bore into his. They were challenging him, he realized. Urging him to get on with it.

"I know it wasn't your choice," he said, "nor was it mine. My father was playing political games. However, some things are hard to forget…."

"I know," she said, blushing slightly. "I was unhappy and perhaps I acted unfeeling on occasion."

He smiled bitterly. He couldn't tell if she meant it or was simply being polite again.

"You're good," he said. "Bravo.."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're mocking me," she said. "I was apologizing."

"Were you?" Tyrion knew he shouldn't pick a fight, but he was sorely tempted.

"What is it you want?" she said. "I dislike this game you're playing. You pretend to be my friend, but I'm not sure you really are."

That stung. "I am," he said, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. "It's not easy though."

"Why?" she said. "What is it I'm doing wrong?"

"I…" His throat constricted. "You confide in me and tell me about your life," he finally said. "Like I'm a really good friend, or a Septon, or your mother, but then there are also all these unsaid things. Things from the past…. Feelings."

"I don't know what it is you want me to say," she said. "You know I didn't want to marry you. I tried my best to be a good wife, regardless, and I am grateful you didn't… force me into anything."

"You left," he said, unable to keep the accusation to himself. "You left me to rot in a prison, to die for all you knew…. And you were…. You were ashamed of me."

"The escape had been planned before we even got married," she said. "I was a prisoner in all but name. Perhaps you've forgotten that?"

"Of course not!" he hissed. "But you were ashamed of me, and you shamed me too."

"Are you referring to the cloaking?" she said, realization creeping into her eyes. "You are, aren't you? I didn't take you for a petty sort of man."

"You were a petty sort of woman." All the bile came out at once. Tyrion couldn't stop himself from speaking. She treated him like a friend of sorts, but she would never love him. He had realized that when he'd seen the look she gave him. One of those strapping young men in the courtyard would snatch her away some day, he was sure of it. He'd begun to suspect she saw him as a mentor more than anything else. It hurt so very much.

"I was barely a woman," she said, "as you are well aware."

"You were woman enough to turn me down," he said. "And not in a gentle manner either."

Sansa nodded. "You accepted it," she said harshly. "You didn't have to."

Coming from her that hurt even more. "I wanted to," he said with emphasis. "What do you take me for, Sansa?"

"I don't know," she replied, angrily, "you tell me. Clearly, you're still angry. You lied when you said you weren't. That you didn't blame me."

"I did," he said, standing up. "I did lie. I don't _want_ to blame you, but I do. You are not the only person that's in pain or hurt. I am too. And some of that was you."

Her lip trembled but her eyes were dark. "You haven't forgiven me," she said, straightening her shoulders. "Though I'm not sure if I should care. It was a mistake to trust you, I see that now."

He nodded. "I want to be your friend," he said, "but I'm not sure I can."

"Clearly," she said, completely in control of herself once more. "Most likely you cannot."

"I think we are done here," Tyrion muttered, as he walked towards the door. "The onslaught."

Sansa pursed her lips. "It's you own doing," she said. "You couldn't leave it alone. You had to stir up all that unpleasantness. Only the gods now why…."

Tyrion shrugged. "It's in my nature," he said. "I just do." It was true. He always had. With his father, with Cersei, with Jaime. Even in court in front of everyone. He had to mention the touchy subjects. He had to speak the unspeakable.


	12. Loneliness

**Loneliness**

Since his outburst Sansa hadn't spoken Tyrion. She no longer considered him her friend. His accusations had come as a shock to her. The vehemence, all that blame shoved onto her shoulders. Sansa was not prepared to carry any of it. There was something about it that made her fearful. She had thought him to be safe person to be around but for all that anger she had been ill-prepared. It hurt to lose a friend like that though. She had enjoyed their little chats, his banter, his kindness and advice. She no longer knew what it meant anymore. Had it not been real? How could he care about her well-being when he felt so much enmity towards her as well? He was a Lannister and always had been one. Everyone knew they weren't trustworthy….

* * *

"Tyrion?" His brother took him aside after breakfast. "What's the matter? I haven't heard your laugh in days, nor have I seen you smile."

Tyrion's eyes grew wide, and gave his brother a reluctant nod. "I haven't smiled in days," he agreed, "because I realized something." He tried to smile bravely, but failed miserably. "I should have known. I could have known. She'll never want me," he said bitterly. "It was foolish to hope."

"What did she say?" Jaime asked. There was no need to explain who the 'she' was.

"It was not so much what she said," Tyrion replied. "It was more the way she looked at them, and then at me."

"Surely something must have happened," Jaime pondered. "She asked me about what happened in your past."

Tyrion huffed. "Yes, she tried that with me as well," he said. "It's none of her business."

"Tyrion," his brother said again. "What was said?"

He frowned, in an attempt to recall. "I couldn't… I just lashed out at her. All the anger that I felt came tumbling out and…. she was upset. It shook her. She thought I was her friend…" He closed his eyes, whispering. "I just… I can't be her friend. I don't want to be a mere _friend_ ," he hissed. "It's simply impossible."

"So you fought," Jaime gathered. "About what exactly?"

"About the past," Tyrion sighed. "When we were married. Things that were said, things that were done."

"You carried a grudge." It wasn't a question.

"I did," Tyrion acknowledged, "and the more I, the closer I got to her, the more I realized that I did have one."

"And now she knows about it too."

"Sansa seems to think all men wish to hurt women," he said, remembering. "Each and every one of us."

Jaime shrugged. "It's not that far off the mark," he said grimly, and when Tyrion raised his eyebrows, he continued: "Perhaps my perception is as warped as Sansa's. She is understandably careful. She should be."

"I know that," Tyrion didn't agree personally. "She all but accused me of… She said I could have taken her if I had wanted to… and I said…." He paused for a moment. "I wanted to accept her decision."

"She can't blame you for that…" Jaime said.

"She doesn't," he explained. "She was grateful for it." He gritted his teeth. "Grateful for not having to be with the monster, no doubt."

"I think you are right," Jaime said. "You can't be friends with her. It's too painful, for you at least. And probably, since your tirade, also for her as well."

* * *

Sansa was in the Godswood. It was one of the only quiet places of Winterfell. She sat in silence, she prayed and then she remembered the last time she'd been here. With the Imp. She taken to calling him that in her mind, angry and hurt as she was. He was still upset about things that had happened years ago, and she didn't even really know why. Sansa had been so pleased they could be on friendly terms as two adults and enjoy some time together, but apparently the Imp could not.

As she softly plucked aside the ivy once more to look at the pale rose, she noticed there no longer was just the one. Two roses now bloomed. Some distance apart from each other but both blooming. Sansa smelled them. "Spring," she whispered hopefully. "Spring will come."


	13. The Red Woman

**The Red Woman**

Losses were truly beginning to show. Daenerys had almost been pierced by a spear and Jon too had gotten hurt. An arrow in his leg had made it impossible for him to fight for days. Jaime was not the only one that was slowly losing heart. He sensed it all around them. The atmosphere at Winterfell, the grimness of the raids. The little villages deserted and Winterfell being overrun with those who had fled. Those who had made it as far as the castle. Many had died along the way and some had joined the army of the dead, as there'd been no time to burn them.

So it was an immense surprise when two riders, only two, appeared at Winterfell's gate one morning.

"The Red Woman!" one of the guards shouted. "The Priestess," another yelled. And it was.

As Melisandre entered the courtyard, Jaime noticed that she wasn't alone. An older man was with her. He looked withered and frail, but he had a grin larger than life. He got of his horse with a little difficulty, his age and the journey causing some stiffness. "Uncle….. " he could hear Tyrion whisper beside him, before his little brother ran towards the old man. "Jaime," he shouted, "It's uncle Gery."

Jaime blinked and looked more closely. The man did have some semblance to his uncle Gerion, but he had been long lost. "It can't be," Jaime said. "It can't."

"Oh, but it can," the Red Priestess said. "I have searched far and wide, and then I found him."

"Uncle Gery," Tyrion said. "You were lost at sea. The Smoking Sea no less."

"The Lord of Light seeks and finds the lost," Melisandre said. "He found him and I was merely an instrument in his recovery."

"Perhaps some wine to warm you up?" Tyrion said. "Might we have a moment alone with our uncle?" he asked but Melisandre did not wish to waste time. "Later," she replied. "First I must speak with Lord Snow…"

"May I present my wife," Jon said and as he told Melisandre of all that had happened since her departure from Dragonstone, Tyrion and Jaime did get a few unguarded moments with their uncle.

"I was lost at sea," he said. "The Smoking Sea is unlike anything you can imagine. I could not find a large crew to take me there, but sail I did. The smoke nearly suffocated me and there were horrors… hidden in the deep. Something or someone protected me. The Lord of Light mayhaps…"

"Did you find the sword?" Jaime asked. "The family sword you meant to reclaim?"

His uncle smiled and nodded. "Here it is," he said, as he took it out of its sheath. "Brightroar."

Jaime saw Tyrion's eyes lit up. "Brightroar," they both echoed in awe. "It still exists," Jaime said. "I had not thought it possible."

"The Lord of Light finds the impossible," his uncle said with a grin, "or so the Priestess tells me."

"You survived the Smoking Sea, uncle," Tyrion said. "You must be the only one to ever make it out alive…"

"Stranger things have happened," his uncle said, reddening, and a little shy. "I'm not a hero, my …."

"We're no longer boys," Tyrion grinned, "though I haven't grown much…"

The three of them laughed. Jaime felt excited. This news might bring them something hopeful at least.


	14. Brightroar

**Brightroar**

"And so he survived," the Red Priestess was telling the tale. "The Lord of Light has plans for him. For us all, I dare say."

Sansa felt uneasy. The Red Priestess had brought her brother back from the death, but she'd also sensed tension between her and Arya. It seemed this Red Woman brought strife and discord wherever she went. That did not bode well, despite the hope that now did begin to grow once more.

"I fail to see the significance of this," she finally stated out loud. "We have Valerian steel. Not enough, I grant you, but will yet another sword bring us what we need?"

"This is no mere sword, Lady Sansa," Melisandre replied. "Not when wielded by the right person. And Gerion Lannister is the first to survive the trials of the Smoking Sea."

"That we know of," Sansa muttered. Her opinion of Lannisters had not improved over the years. And had taken another hit not too long ago.

"It was said of Euron Greyjoy too," Ser Davos said, addressing her remark. "So he cannot be the only one, nor the first." Sansa noted his eyes were fiery as he looked at the Red Woman. I'm not the only one who dislikes her, she thought.

Tyrion laughed heartily at that. "Every other word that came out of that man's mouth was a lie or a boast," he stated.

"We cannot hope to defeat the Night King without it," Melisandre said, returning to the question of Brightroar. "Though the flames remain unclear as to who should wield this sword."

"Surely a Lannister," Ser Jaime spoke up. Sansa had expected nothing less from him.

The Red Priestess looked at him with a piercing gaze. "Mayhaps," she said, "but the Lord of Light does not follow the rules of us mere mortals. Rather we should follow him, for the night is dark and full of terrors."

Sansa could see the three Lannisters mutter amongst themselves. The Lord of Light did not favor Lannisters after all, she thought, and she began to warm up to this new god.

* * *

"You promised me she'd be executed!" Ser Davos roared. It was just him and the Starks now. Not even Daenerys was present in the Great Hall. Sansa was surprised at the vehemence. Ser Davos was generally a soft spoken man. "You promised me! You promised me justice!"

"I understand," Jon tried to calm him. "I understand your concern, but we cannot. The priestess might be needed before the end. She has returned with a purpose; even knew she might die at our hands."

Her sister, Arya spoke up as well. "She is untrustworthy," she said. "She may know things, but she also gets it wrong. We have Bran. We should trust him, not some Red Woman."

"I disagree," their brother said. "I simply do. The circumstances have changed. We cannot afford to kill or execute anyone, not with our numbers. Every man, woman and child counts and so do Priestesses. Even ones as dark as her."

"We do not know what the future holds, mayhaps," Ser Davos said, "but we know she won't bring anything good."

"Ser Davos," Jon said. "It was you yourself who asked her to revive me," he nearly begged. "Surely you must see that circumstances today are even more dire than they were back then."

"That was I before I knew what she had done," Ser Davos said. "She burned Shireen. The nicest and kindest child I've ever known, for nothing. For her visions in her horrible flames." He stalked out of the Great Hall.

"I did promise him," Jon sighed. "He is right to be angry, but there will be no execution. She has brought us some hope, when we most need it. Perhaps her Lord of Light does use the most flawed of servants…."

"I'm sure Varys would agree," Bran said. "And Thoros of Myr, and The Hound."

"A Lord of Light with dark servants," Arya giggled. "Sounds like the Many Faced God to me."

"The Many Faced God will have his share of offerings," her brother, that had acquired the third eye, remarked, "before all this is over."


	15. Darkness

**Darkness**

When Tyrion first saw the second pale rose, he forgot for a moment he was angry with Sansa. He went in search of her and saw her outside of the grain stores. Tyrion hurried towards her and grabbed her sleeve. "Sansa," he said. His face alight with joy. "There's a second rose." She smiled at him, bitterly. "I know," she said. "I noticed it a while ago."

"You do realize what that means?" Tyrion hastened to say. "It means spring…"

She nodded. "I thought so too," she said, "but just because spring may come, doesn't mean it's here yet."

He felt the happiness drain from his features. "I realize that," he began carefully, "but surely its significance deserve a celebration of sorts."

"There is nothing to celebrate with," she hissed. "Our stores are beginning to run out. Soon there will be fighting over food; deciding who is deserving…. Spring may come too late."

"Sansa," he said again, but she pried his hand from her sleeve and stalked away.

So much for his good news. He felt the anger boiling up again and quickly left the grain stores himself. He needed better company, and wine, while it was still available.

* * *

It was slippery on the walls and Tyrion's head was hazy. He'd had too much wine last night. It had been so good but strong and he'd needed comfort. Liquid comfort was the only kind he got these days. He'd lost count of the number of goblets he'd drunk and his head was spinning ever so slightly.

"You look pale, Lord Tyrion," one of the Lannister soldiers manning the wall said. "Are you sure you mean to watch?"

"I'll be fine," he said, waving his concerns away. "I promised to and a Lannister always pays his debts."

He had taken to watch and salute the raiding parties whenever they left. Oftentimes his brother would take part in them, as would his wife, but also Tyrion's Queen and her husband, Jon. Saluting them and wishing them well was the least he could do. He knew he wouldn't be much help if he came along, but it still hurt. Letting others fight the battle for him. If – or perhaps when – the fight came to Winterfell he would have to partake. Tyrion somberly reflected that his uncle might join the raiding parties soon as well. "All alone again," he sighed as the dragons took to the air and the horses galloped away at high speed. As he walked down the carved stone steps, Tyrion's foot slipped and unable to grasp anything, he tumbled down the stairs…. It was a long way down. Tyrion protected his head as best as he could but when he had reached the bottom his head hurt worse than ever before.

Colors, shapes, everything was faded, and muted yet one voice stood out clearly. Panicked and shrill, he heard her before his eyes were aware of her shape.

"What happened?" he heard her say, as her feet came running. "Tyrion, are you all right?"

He saw her face looming over him. Her beautiful hair, her pale visage, her worrying eyes.

"Sansa," Tyrion softly said, right before he closed his own eyes. "Sansa, I love you." He could hear her gasp, then he fell into the darkness. Sweet, painless darkness.


	16. Bedtime stories - one

**Bedtime stories - one**

Jaime had scarcely left his brother's bedside. He had not yet opened his eyes. Both him and his uncle alternated to make sure there was someone at all times. Brienne was away with the raid and so Jaime found himself worrying about his brother and his wife. It was almost too much to bear. On the second day a knock on the door startled him. It was Sansa. She asked if she could come in and Jaime let her.

Sansa sat on the other side of the bed and looked at Tyrion for a long time before she spoke. She bit her lip and hissed: "You knew! You did, didn't you?"

Jaime shrugged. "Sort of," he said, "Yes, I did."

Sansa grabbed Tyrion's hand and didn't speak for a while. "I should have realized," she muttered to herself. "I might have known when he'd….." She fell silent. She looked very pale and tired, Jaime thought.

"You should look after yourself, Sansa," he said.

Sansa stared right through him. "I haven't slept these last two days," she said softly. "My mind kept going over everything he told me. Some of it has taken on new meaning and I…. I'm so …. Torn."

"Torn?" he echoed.

She nodded. "Yes," she whispered. "Torn."

Jaime understood. "I've felt torn too," he whispered. "With Cersei. I wanted to leave her sooner, but I never quite could."

She smiled at him. "I …" she began. "I've missed him, these last few weeks."

"He has missed you," Jaime could confidently acknowledge. "He stopped laughing all together. At least until our uncle arrived. They have always enjoyed each other's presence."

"We fought," she said. "Or rather he… He blamed me for many things and I just… I just felt I couldn't trust him anymore."

"It was hard… perhaps impossible for him to be merely a friend. He…. " Jaime hesitated, but her eyes begged him to go on. "He was jealous of other men you might become interested in. It was easier to anger you instead."

"He was very angry," she said. "I was ever so… confused when he said, what he said, just before he…"

"You hadn't expected it?" Jaime said. Perhaps Sansa was better at noticing love when it didn't concern herself, he thought.

"No!" she said. "Not in the least. He used to… He used to think I was a silly girl and now he thought I was… well, bitter and harsh and cold and what not."

"He must have given you some inkling of…" Jaime said. "I'm sure he meant to."

"Perhaps in hindsight," she admitted, "but I was too… I had my own troubles and I didn't notice."

"He's a good man," Jaime said, "He'd treat you well, but you know all that. That's not what this is about…"

Sansa nodded. "It's not," she said. "It's about making a choice. About letting my heart speak."

"He hates pity," Jaime warned. "You mustn't…. Not if it's not real or true."

"I won't," Sansa said. "That's why I'm torn. It's hard to make a choice today without knowing how I will feel in another ten years, or twenty, provided we have that."

"You're afraid of being hasty?" he wondered.

"Hasty, yes," she said, "and sentimental. I mustn't be. It's too important for that."

Jaime couldn't disagree. The circumstances could lead her to a wrong decision and happy though it might make Tyrion in the short run, it would be disastrous in the long run.

"Best not decide yet at all then," he muttered. "It will keep."

She sighed in relief. "I think you are right," she said. "I'm in no state to make decisions at the moment."


	17. Bedtime stories - two

**Bedtime stories – two**

In his state of darkness, Tyrion only heard bits here and there of what was said in his room. He briefly heard Jaime mutter, or his uncle read him a story of dragons or the Smoking Sea. Once or twice, he heard Sansa's soft voice but he was unable to decipher it. Too soft, he thought, I can't hear you.

* * *

When Sansa came to visit him again, late in the evening, on that second day, his uncle Gerion was present. Sansa hesitated but he welcomed her in. He was holding a book that he'd been reading. "The Maester hopes it may help," he said. "Tyrion loved his adventure stories as a child; he wanted to explore the world."

"He has in a way," she said. "He went to find the Dragon Queen; he has visited the Wall. He has seen more of the world than I have."

"Somehow I doubt that," his uncle replied calmly. "You have seen the world as well. The inner world of mankind."

Sansa bit her lip as she sat down. "Nothing much good to find there," she muttered.

"It pains me that I've only just arrived, after so many years, to not only hear of the death of my brothers but to also perhaps witness the death of my beloved nephew," he said. "Tyrion always cheered my day as I did his."

Sans smiled despite herself. "He does love to joke," she said. "To cheer one up, even if he's down-hearted himself."

His uncle nodded. "My brother did not treat him as he should," he said. "I was not there to stop him from doing the worst. Nor to stop Tyrion from…"

Sansa didn't know what to say. "Family can be the hardest of all," she said. "Why is that?"

He did not know the answer either.

"You were his wife for a time, weren't you?" the uncle asked after a long silence. Sansa nodded. "It was meant to make a spectacle of us both," she said. "To mock us. To shame us."

"He loved my handmaiden," she continued. "I didn't hear until later, and she betrayed him. She wasn't really a handmaiden, she was a whore. He'd brought her into the Red Keep and his father found out…."

"And our family was torn apart," Gerion said. "Tywin against his children. Cersei against her brothers."

"I was lucky to escape," Sansa said. "Cersei would not have let me live. Tyrion was lucky to escape too."

"Yet you did not escape together…."

Sansa blushed. "I escaped with someone who claimed to be my friend. Someone who claimed to have been my mother's friend."

"You trusted the wrong person," he gathered. "And now you're afraid to trust."

Sansa didn't reply. How did he know? She nodded pensively.

"For what it's worth," uncle Gerion said, "that's not easy for anyone. Least of all Tyrion himself."

"He was a friend," she said. "For a while. For as much as either of us could be."

The old man smiled. "Sometimes that's all we can do," he said. When she stayed silent for a long time, he said: "Which story would you like to hear?" as he leafed through the book.

"One with a happy ending," she said. "No Others, no dragons."

* * *

A few hours later, uncle Gerion was snoring in his chair. Sansa felt her own eyes grow heavy too. She would get Jaime of the Maester to take their turn. Softly she rose from her chair and leant forward towards her former husband. She stroke his hair and cheek. The stillness that surrounded him was eerie. Sansa shuddered. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. The first one in many years.

Her lips briefly brushed his. "Be well," she whispered. "We need you, Tyrion."


	18. Bedtime stories - three

**Bedtime stories - three**

She noticed his eyes blinking. Blinking rapidly and then, they opened. He was no longer asleep. Sansa saw Tyrion blinking a few times, probably slowly taking in his surroundings. After a few seconds, he noticed her and looked at her. Sansa softly squeezed his hand.

"Tyrion," she whispered. "You're awake."

He smiled at her and looked tired.

"Tyrion," she said again. "You love me."

He nodded, a bit shy, and replied, a little hesitant: "Sansa, yes, I do."

She smiled back at him. "I didn't know," she whispered. "I didn't realize." Sansa frowned and said: "It startled me… So unexpected."

He coughed. "I like being unpredictable," he said. "Perhaps you like it less?"

"I… I don't … I don't want to make any hasty decisions," she said. "I'm glad you're alive. I'm glad you're awake. Everything else is so… difficult to figure out."

Sansa wiped away the sweat on her forehead. It was far too hot in here. Or was it merely her discomfort?

* * *

It was hard to think. His mind was all befuddled. Sansa sat there, holding his hand. Tyrion was very aware of that. She was happy he was alive. That was something at least. He was a Lannister after all.

"I don't want you to make any hasty decisions," he heard his voice croak. "I wasn't going to tell you; I just blurted it out."

"You almost died," she whispered. "You lost your footing."

Tyrion nodded. "I slipped," he said, "and when I saw you standing over me…. I thought… you should know."

"I don't know if I love you," Sansa said, eyes cast downwards. "I know that I missed you when we fell out. That much I do know."

Tyrion put on a brave smile. "That's good to hear," he said. She smiled at him, cautiously, he thought.

"I'm glad you're here," he said. "It means a lot." Still, he wished she wouldn't stay long. He needed to think.

"It's been three days," she said. "Your brother and uncle have been constantly at your side as well."

"Could you call for them?" Tyrion asked. He didn't want to deal with Sansa Stark at the moment. It was too hard and heart-breaking.

"Of course," Sansa said and stood up immediately. "They will be overjoyed," she said, "I'll inform the Maester as well. "

"Please do," he said. "I'd like something for the pain." Both for his heart and his legs.

* * *

After the Maester had given him a thorough look, he motioned for Jaime and Gerion to come in.

Jaime was very relieved to see his brother awake. Not so much in good spirits, but that would come soon enough, he hoped. "You sure know how to draw attention to yourself," he joked, "even when you've completely fallen silent…."

Tyrion smiled. "It's good to be back," he said. His uncle patted his shoulder.

"You did get quite some attention from a certain lady too," he broached the unbroachable. "She was here most of the time."

Tyrion shook his head. "Let's not dwell on it," he said. "I need to focus on getting out of this bed first."

"The Maester said you were lucky enough the fall didn't kill you, but apparently even your legs will mend…" Jaime said, amazed at the good outcome. "Severe bruising and sprain, some broken bones, but likely nothing lasting."

"I'm a lucky lion then," Tyrion said. "That's a first."

"Lucky Lion sounds good to me," he uncle smirked. "I'm an old Lion, and I can tell you that's not so lucky. I can feel it in my bones."

Jaime shook his head at that. "You survived one of the worst seas, I'd say you are lucky too."

"You charged at a bear and a dragon and lived to tale the tale," his uncle shot back.

"If I had a flagon of wine," Tyrion said, "I'd toast to us, the Lucky Lannisters."

"The only wine you're getting is dream wine," his brother said sternly. "It was the wine that caused your fall."

"It was the steps," Tyrion insisted. "The bloody snow. The treacherous ice."


	19. Wolves and Whores

A/N: For the Tysha storyline in this chapter, I'm going with the show's version and explanation and not the books. The show version is horrible enough. The book version is just… it really shows you how much Tywin hates his son and how far he is willing to go to hurt him.

* * *

 **Wolves and Whores**

It was Tyrion's first day out after his sickbed. The cold air felt good on his skin. He'd been cooped up for too long. It had been a quick recovery though he did have trouble trusting his legs. Every once in a while they buckled from under him, even when he didn't drink. At the advice of his brother and the stern glances of Lady Sansa he'd limited the amount somewhat. Sansa had visited him often. They hadn't spoken of his declaration of love anymore, nor about the angry outburst that had happened some time before that. Their fragile friendship had returned but all the unanswered questions did hang between them like a veil. Separating and obscuring one another. As he took his first few steps onto the slippery snow, he noticed Sansa crossing the courtyard, and she noticed him.

"Would you like my arm?" she offered. "The cobbles are icy."

"I'd rather have your hand," he quipped. He saw her blush and look away. "Yes, please," he quickly said, "that would be most helpful."

Sansa smiled at him. "I had my first sword fighting lesson yesterday," she said. "Lady Brienne taught me. I made sure Arya wasn't around to see me though…"

Tyrion laughed. "You do think of everything," he said. Sansa smiled. "I try," she replied.

"Can you make it to the Godswood?" she asked after a moment of silence. "There's a third rose, has been since a few days… I think… perhaps it means a child."

Tyrion coughed to hide his discomfort. He personally saw the roses as symbolizing the both of them, but perhaps she did not.

"A child of spring," he said. Sansa nodded. "I think Daenerys may be with child," she muttered. "I'm not sure, but there's something different about her."

"Whatever it means," he said, hiding his displeasure, "Three roses must mean spring."

He saw tears spring into her eyes. "It must, mustn't it?" she said. "I cannot bring myself to truly hope, but the signs are clear. Yet other signs point to another long night. Losses everywhere and the Night King gaining ground. Spring better come soon." He patted her arm.

"I hope it will too," he said.

* * *

"You told me once," she said a little while later, "that you were unlucky in love. That you were betrayed. You didn't want to tell me then…. Do you want to now?"

Tyrion sighed. "Why do you wish to know, Sansa?" he said. "What does it matter?"

She looked away. "Do you not trust me?" she said with a smothered voice. "You say you love me, but you don't trust me, and you are angry with me too."

He closed his eyes. For once, it was Sansa bringing up the past. "I'm not angry with you anymore," he said. "It was silly of me, carrying a grudge. I… was jealous. It brought back unpleasant memories, but there are quite a few parts of our marriage that I recall with great fondness."

"There are?" she said, looking back at him, clearly biting back tears. "I thought there weren't any…" It stung him deeper than he'd thought possible.

"Of course, there are," he stated firmly. "You were very kind at times, I haven't forgotten that."

"You were too," she said. "Often."

"I do trust you," Tyrion said. "Perhaps you do deserve to know. However, it is not a pleasant tale."

He told her of the betrayal. How she had been a whore all along. Presumably laughing at him all along as well. Still, he wasn't proud of how it ended. He had loved her and he'd done nothing to stop his father, nor his men.

"There was nothing you could have done," she softly said, after she'd stared into the distance for a while. "You were outnumbered."

"She didn't deserve that," he said, "even if she was a whore."

"I told Bronn the story long ago," Tyrion continued and he told me he'd kill the man that would do that to him.

"And you did, in the end," Sansa understood.

Tyrion smiled sad. "I did," he said. "In the end."


	20. The Question

**The Question**

Sansa had thought long and hard. She wanted to be a wife. She wanted to have children. Sansa also knew that as much as she liked the exterior of the young Northern Bannermen, she did not know nor trust them. Not yet. Understanding her feelings for the little Lannister was not easy either. She couldn't imagine her life without him anymore, but she did not wish to return to the South. He wasn't handsome; he wasn't strong. He could be protective in his deeds, but he would not be able to defend her. It hurt to let go of dreams, she thought. Dreams of a man who had it all.

But when she thought of the list she'd told Tyrion about a while ago, he did fit them perfectly. He respected her. He listened to her and let her be herself. Tyrion knew his own mind and was honorable but certainly not naïve. He wasn't strong, but his wits helped him to survive. And he could make her laugh. Perhaps Septa Mordane was right after all, she muttered before she fell asleep one night. There was beauty to be found in every man.

A few days later, Sansa had decided. She would not die a widow. At least not just yet. That evening she went to visit Tyrion in his chambers, but when she got there his brother was already present.

* * *

Jaime looked up at the knock at the door. "It's rather late," he told Tyrion. "Whoever could it be at this hour of night?"

"A ghost, no doubt," his brother hiccupped, an empty goblet in his hand. "The cold ghost of Winterfell come to haunt us Lions away…"

Jaime opened the door. "It's not a ghost," he called out to his brother, "though she is somewhat pale." Tyrion laughed at that. Jaime smirked at the Lady of Winterfell, and then narrowed his eyes. Sansa had quite a determined look on her face. He hoped she wasn't on the war path yet again.

"Could I have a moment alone with your brother?" Sansa said. Something in her voice and glance told Jaime not to argue. "Of course," he said, "he's all yours." Quickly he left Tyrion's chambers, though he couldn't help lingering at the door for a moment after he'd closed it.

* * *

Sansa took a deep breath. There he sat, her former husband. His small crooked feet laying on small pouf in front on him. He looked sleepy, she thought. Sleepy and content. "I have come to tell you…," she said, and hesitated briefly. "Are you listening?" she asked, as his eyes were half-closed. Too much wine, no doubt.

"Of course," he said, "always." He was swinging about an empty goblet.

"I wanted you to know," she began again, "that if you were to ask me I wouldn't say no."

Tyrion sat bolt upright and the cup fell out of his hand onto the tick carpet. "You what?!" he said.

Sansa smiled. "So you weren't half asleep after all," she teased. A good thing it was empty, she thought.

"You're not joking," he said, his eyes lingering on her face. "You mean it."

She nodded as a response. "There's a few things, though…" she said. "If you don't mind."

"Ah, I knew there'd be a but…" he said, cheerfully, "what are they?"

"I want a wedding before the old gods, not the Seven," she said, "and I wish to remain at Winterfell. Also you promised never to hurt me, I take it that hasn't changed?"

"Of course not," he answered the latter. "You shouldn't have to ask that, Sansa…"

"Jon has agreed to the match," she said. "I don't expect Jaime will have any problems with it, will he?"

"He'd probably say 'rather you than me,' but other than that, I don't think so."

Sansa laughed. "Well, that goes both ways," she said. "Brienne is welcome to him."

"Sansa," he said, softly, "what caused you to decide? I'd like to know."

"I… A few things," she replied. "Your fall, missing you after we'd fought, but mostly…" She looked at him. "Mostly because I enjoy your company. You are charming and smart, funny too. You make me feel cared for. You don't belittle me and you're a true friend."

He smiled at her. "I'm much smaller than you," he said, stupidly.

Sansa shook her head, suppressing a laugh. "I had noticed," she replied. "It's hard to miss."

The first thing Tyrion felt was fierce strong joy. Disbelief too. The second thing he noticed was that she didn't mention love. He wondered if he should point it out, but couldn't bring himself to do so.

Then he did the stupidest thing of all, but he couldn't help himself. He began to bring up all sorts of arguments against them being together, starting with his height.

"I'm not…" he said. "I'm not handsome and so any children… they might not be either and you deserve beautiful children."

"Tyrion," she said. "I know what you look like."

He frowned. "I thought you thought me hideous," he whispered, swallowing hard. "A monster."

"I don't," she said. "I don't think you're a monster." She was silent for a second and then told him, quite commandingly, he thought, "I think you should ask me now and I think you should kiss me too."

"Gladly," Tyrion said and he got up and walked towards her. He took her hand and said: "Lady Sansa, would you consider being my wife?"

"Yes, I would," she said smiling down at him. Tyrion's eyes sparkled.

"Perhaps we should seal it with a kiss," he said, and Sansa laughed.

"That was my idea," she said. "Not yours…"

Tyrion pretended he did not hear her. She reached downwards as he reached up and their lips met in the middle.


	21. The Night Before

**The night before**

It was the night before the wedding. Tyrion and Sansa were alone in his chambers. Tyrion couldn't stop himself. "Sansa?" he said and she lay down her embroidery, "There's one thing that is bothering me a little…." He took a deep breath and said: "You didn't, you haven't mentioned love."

Sansa blushed. "I don't know why," she said. "I feel I don't really know its meaning anymore."

"It's when…" Tyrion said, "when your heart lights up when you're with a person and it begins to sing. Or when you think about them and you feel all warm inside. Or when you think about them perhaps not liking you and the ache of that is overwhelming."

"Oh," she said. "I do feel that. I thought it was about other things. What they mention in the songs…"

"All the things I'm not," he said. "The handsome warrior, the gallant knight, the sweet poet, the glorious bard."

"If that's what it means," she said, disregarding his words, "then I love you, Tyrion."

"Good," he said, "that is what it means."

"A while ago," Sansa said, "You said you'd given up on fierce passion and falling head over heels. I think I have too. The songs are all about summer love, not winter love. All about tourneys and flowers and maiden fair, but not about growing to love someone. Not about growing old together or about friendship deepening." She blushed a little. "In the stories, it all happens in a lightening flash and not slowly over time. It's never about respect and sharing hope or pain. Only about bravery and beauty."

"Never about imps," he said.

"Never about them," she agreed. "Perhaps we'll be a song one day…."

He laughed. "I'd hate to hear it, I believe," he said. "They'd be mocking the pair of us."

"It will probably be a drinking song," she said, "where you have to drink at the end of every verse and there will be so many verses, you won't be able to stand on your feet at the end of it."

"My kind of song," Tyrion smiled.

* * *

A little later Sansa shifted uncomfortable in her seat. "There is one other thing," she whispered, biting her lip.

"Tomorrow night…" she said. "Tyrion, I… I am a little scared. With Ramsey…." She closed her eyes but the tears sprang into them regardless. "It hurt," she whispered. "Very much."

"I promised not to hurt you," he said sternly. "So I won't."

"But what if it does?" Sansa said.

"One of the great things of having bedded many a whore," he said, "is knowledge of the female body. I'll find a way that won't hurt."

"You will?" she said. "You think you can?"

"I will," he said confidently. "Don't think about it anymore."

He hesitated and then added. "Whilst we are confessing, I'm worried about something too." He looked straight into her eyes and said, a little hoarsely: "Sansa, do you pity me?"

Her eyes grew wide. "What's there to pity?" she replied, a hint of sharpness in her voice. "I see a man belonging to a great House, who is Hand of the Queen, no less. He is healthy and protected. Chances that he will die in battle are thin, because of his build. He has his wits about him and is about to get married to an honorable Lady of another great House."

"Thank you," he whispered. "I quite envy this man…"

Sansa laughed. "You better," she replied.


	22. Another Winter Wedding

A/N: A bit of smut in this chapter.

* * *

 **Another Winter Wedding**

Tyrion was waiting in front of the heart tree with Jaime at his side. His brother smiled at him to bolster his courage. Tyrion took a deep breath. A wedding before the old gods. Gods he didn't know, nor followed, but perhaps they would bless his marriage better than the Seven had. He could always hope. Sansa did not wish to repeat the wedding they'd had last time and she absolutely refused to be cloaked in Lannister colors. Tyrion couldn't blame her. He had asked her about it bringing back memories of her previous wedding though, but she had been surrounded by enemies then, she had said. Now, she was surrounded by friends. Jon would escort her. She would not be walking to her doom this time.

"Who comes before the old gods?" Bran did the honors of his sister's wedding. Jon replied: "Sansa of House Stark, trueborn and noble, comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?"

"Tyrion of House Lannister," he replied, with a frog in his throat, "I claim her. Who gives her?"

Jon was silent for a moment. "Jon Snow of House Stark," he said, smiling, "and Aegon Targaryen of House Targaryen." Tyrion smiled, and he saw his Queen smile too out of the corner of his eyes. Jon turned to Sansa and asked if she would accept him, Tyrion of House Lannister. She did. "I take this man," she said and Tyrion's heart soared. They knelt in front of the heart tree and Tyrion cloaked her. Not in his colors, nor in her own, but in a simple white furry cloak instead. Just as Sansa refused to be draped in Lannister colors, he'd refused to cloak her in her own colors. They'd finally agreed that houses and sigils would only cause trouble; not create unity, yet neither was ready to give up their name just yet.

Perhaps we'll be the ones to break the wheel, Tyrion thought as he saw his wife in her houseless cloak.

* * *

Tyrion's third wedding to his second wife was far happier than his second had been. There was no king to mock him, nor threaten to rape his wife. There'd be no bedding, so that would not cause any shame either. The dread of having no one to bed him – women wouldn't be all that eager to undress him, Tyrion found – and for Sansa it would might bring back unpleasant memories of her own.

"A fine wife and a fine wine," he said to his brother, "what more could a man want?" They were seated next to one another in the Great Hall. Sansa was dancing with her brother. He skirt was twirling and Tyrion could not keep his eyes of her. My Sansa, he thought. All mine.

Jaime laughed. "Children, a castle, gold?" he said. "For the war to be over?"

Tyrion frowned. "Today I'm not worrying about the war," he declared. "Today I am celebrating life."

His brother shook his head. "I thought that was every day for you?"

"Brother mine," he said, his voice drawling a little, 'T was indeed. It is…"

"She is radiant today," Jaime said, as he looked at Tyrion's wife as well. "Not so pale, a healthy blush." He leant forward to his brother. "Mayhaps it's the longing for tonight…"

Tyrion blushed himself. "One can always hope," he muttered, but his face fell a little.

Jaime rose his eyebrows. "What did I say?" he whispered. "Tyrion, is everything alright?"

He shook his head. "It's nothing," he said roughly. "Just nerves…"

Jaime rolled his eyes. "You?" he laughed. "You've bedded more women than…. Well , than a great many men."

"Not women," Tyrion hissed. "Whores," he said. "There is a difference…"

* * *

His words echoed in his minds a few hours later when they were, at last, by themselves. Women didn't want me, he thought. The whores only pretended. They were after my purse. After silks and gemstones. Security and wealth. They never wanted me. Me, the Imp. The ugly Lannister.

"Will you help me with my gown?" his wife said. "I can't unlace the back myself."

"Of course," he said, "why don't you sit on the bed and I…." He didn't want to say he couldn't reach her otherwise, but Sansa understood. She sat on the bed and he climbed onto the other side. "It was a lovely day," he whispered. "You make a lovely bride…"

"And you a wonderful husband," she said, though she was trembling a little, at his touch. Tyrion slowly released the laces and Sansa's gown loosened. Tyrion's lips softly brushed her neck and shoulder.

* * *

His hands touched her skin. They were warm and gentle. Sansa closed her eyes and let him caress her. She startled a little when his hand went towards her womanhood. "It won't hurt," he promised. "I'll make sure of it. Tell me if it does and I'll stop."

"Yes," she said. "I will." She settled back into the pillows.

"Just let your body tell you," he whispered. "It will tell you."

Sansa nodded. His hand crept up her leg and it felt pleasant enough. He wasn't rough or violent. As he came closer, she bit her lip, this was the part where the real hurt used to begin.

His finger lingered and Sansa realized he was stroking her. A particular part of her. It felt very nice indeed. A soft moan escaped her lips and she could hear Tyrion laugh softly. "You do like it, don't you?" he smiled. "What are you doing?" she said.

"A gentleman never tells," he teased, but then he said: "It's a lady's place of pleasure."

"It is very plea…" she said, but found she couldn't really talk anymore. She put a fist inside her mouth and bit on it so as not to scream of delight. His finger slipped inside her and Sansa moaned. Long and loud.


	23. The Old Lion

A/N: I'm not following all the precise prophecies in the canon, books and TV series, but will play around with them a little, regarding Azor Ahai and all that. Melisandre rather wavers on the identity of this legendary hero in this particular story.

* * *

 **The Old Lion**

The Lady Melisandre had looked into the flames and had decided that the Lord of Light had brought uncle Gerion back for a purpose, both him and his sword. Ser Davos had sneered that she could see nothing in those flames; _if_ she could, why could she not see clearly? "You told me it was Lord Snow, but only after Stannis had died, of course," he hissed. "But now it's an old Lion?"

"He's not that old," Jaime shouted back, but his uncle had shrugged. "I feel like a hundred years old, sometimes," he stated. "I do believe the Priestess might be right. Why else would he have let me survive the Smoking Sea?"

"Indeed," the Lady Melisandre said. "What for if not to defeat the Great Other himself?"

The Hound spoke up as well. "I cannot speak as to your history," he said, glaring at Melisandre, "and your visions in the past, I can, however, speak for myself. In the flames last night, I saw a roaring Lion. A sword lit aflame. A Lion's sword."

"There!" Melisandre told Ser Davos. "You don't have to take my word for it. It is R'hllor himself who speaks through the flames."

So it was decided.

* * *

A few days later, it turned out that Ser Davos had been right. Uncle Gerion was no more. His blade had not caught fire and he had not survived. The Night King had killed him, easily, and the quiet sparkle in his stone cold blue eyes had told of his joy at their failure.

"Perhaps there is no Azor Ahai this time," Tyrion had softly, bitterly, divulged to his new wife. "Perhaps this time, they will win." Besides Uncle Gerion, many had fallen as well. And the Night King's dragon had fought fiercely against his brothers. It felt as if Winter's strength was building, and Spring was very far away.

"Jon managed to snatch Brightroar away just in time though," Sansa said. "At least, we still have his blade."

Tyrion huffed. "I don't care about the blade," he said, "I don't think it is special. I care about my uncle and our Queen…."

Daenerys had been pregnant but only for a short while. She'd miscarried early on and had since lost hope. Jon tried to lift her spirits, but the Maegi's prophecy had taken hold of her mind. The dragons were her only children. And one of them was already lost.

"Prophecies are vile things," Sansa said, echoing Ser Davos. "They point us into the wrong direction. They hurt more than they help."

"I tend to agree," Tyrion said. "I used to really like them. The fabric of our world, I thought they were, but now…. The Red Priestess was wrong. So was the Hound. What if R'hllor is not our friend? He is not a native god, after all…."


	24. The Roaring Lion

**The Roaring Lion**

Winterfell was starting to get divided. Not everyone liked the Red Priestess or her visions. Her god could be a false god, whereas others were desperate enough to try anything and follow anyone. Melisandre used her natural authority and charm to make people listen to her. Uncle Gerion's death had left Tyrion raw and he would hear no more of roaring Lions. His brother Jaime, however, was all ears. No matter what Tyrion said to dissuade him, it only strengthened his resolve.

* * *

It was late one night. Melisandre was nowhere to be seen, but the Hound was in the courtyard. Tyrion and Jaime were fighting about the visions, when Jaime decided to get the Hound involved. He was clearly not amused by this, but didn't disobey either. "Look into the fire and tell me what you see," Jaime said. "You noticed a Lion before, or so you told us."

"It rarely happens," the Hound grumbled, but he stared into the fire all the same.

They were silent for a few minutes and Tyrion was becoming fidgety. Jaime stopped him when he tried to walk away, as the Hound had narrowed his eyes and was truly seeing something in these flames.

"A flaming sword," he mumbled. "Piercing the Night King's heart. A Lion's sword."

"Brightroar," Jaime whispered. "Brightroar will kill him."

"And you think you're the one to wield it?" Tyrion said, his eyes angrily locking Jaime's.

"It looks like it has to be me, Tyrion," Jaime replied, irritated.

"I don't want you to do this," Tyrion insisted. "I really don't. What if the flames are wrong again? You are what is left of my family. I do not want to lose you!"

"If the Night King survives, we will all be lost," Jaime replied. "That's for sure."

"The flames don't lie," the Hound said, determination in his voice. "I'm not a priest of R'hllor. I don't know why I get these visions, nor did I ask for them. All I know, is that they don't lie."

"There you have it," Jaime said. "Prophecies are not to be messed with. They exist for a reason. Perhaps it's my fate to be the Kingslayer."

"You already are," Tyrion grumbled. "If this is about atoment or sacrifice…. You have a wife now! Do you think she wants you to do this?!"

"I'll ask her," Jaime replied coolly. "Brienne may be more sensible about it than you are."

* * *

It was hard to broach the subject to his wife though. It took Jaime a day or two to bolster his courage. "I think it has to be me," he finally whispered one night, when she was undressing. "The flames have spoken."

Brienne spun around at that. "The flames have spoken?!" she snapped. "That's what your uncle thought too!"

"You sound like Tryion," he said, sighing.

"Your brother is a smart man," Brienne stated, "I cannot disagree with him on this."

"Tyrion and me are the only Lions of any importance that are left; on this side, at least… You don't think it's Cersei, is it? Cersei defeating the Night King?!" he hissed back.

"Of course not," Brienne said. "Prophecies are fickle things. What if it's not a lion at all? Those flames do not present a clear portrait. It's all guess work and…" She hesitated.

"And what?" he asked.

"And faith. And, well, in your case…. Mayhaps a chance for redemption? A way to become a valiant hero?"

Jaime's eyes darkened. "It's not for my own valor or honor," he grumbled. "It's not, Brienne. It for the sake of us all."

She shook her head. "I don't think that's true," she replied. "I think you are lying to yourself about that." Brienne stepped into the bed as if she'd said nothing hurtful at all. "Come," she told him. "You'll get cold…"

Jaime hesitated. "I resent that," he said. "I really do."

"I know," his wife muttered into her pillow. "You're not fond of the truth."

"I am," he said. "What are you talking about…?"

Brienne yawned. "You're very good at deceiving yourself, and others too, I may add. It's not a judgement; simply the truth."

Jaime got under the furs himself, turning his back at her. He grumbled a little, but Brienne lay her hand on his back. "It's one of the things I like about you," she softly said. "Despite it being somewhat inconvenient at times. You're a dreamer."

"You're a spoilsport," he said, but then he turned around, facing her.

"Hello, dreamer," she said, with a smile. "Hello, spoilsport," he replied.

"I dream too!" she said, mockingly affronted. "Of a kiss or a little more, for instance…"

"Is that so?" he said, leaning towards her.


	25. The Night King

**The Night King**

Brienne had not been able to get the horrible thought out of Jaime's mind, no matter how much she argued. He was determined to be the Lion to kill the King. It bothered her to no end, but there wasn't much she could do. The only thing she could, was to remain close by. To make sure that if he attacked, she'd only be a step behind. One morning, when the names for the next raid were drawn, Jaime's name was picked, but hers was not. "I'm going too," she insisted, hissing at her husband. "You are not doing this alone."

* * *

It didn't take long for the Others to notice the small group of warriors approaching them. Brienne could swear she saw the Night King smirk. One by one, wights and men fell. Closer and closer, the cold King came, and it was as if her heart stopped. It would happen soon. Jaime… What if he fell too? Brienne could not bear to think of it, yet it was no longer in her hands. He was a few steps ahead of her, making straight for their leader.

As the Night King came closer, Brienne saw Jaime falter. The sword was too heavy; though Valerian steel was light, it was still a two-handed sword. "Not my husband," she said through gritted teeth, as she increased her speed. "You cannot have him!"

She plowed through the snow as fast as she could and reached him and his sword sooner than their adversary. Brienne reached for Brightroar and clasped the sword with both her hands. The Night King looked at her with his cold eyes. He was calm and confident, as always. "Brienne," Jaime whispered. "Brienne, it has to be me."

"I don't care," she said. "I don't like visions. I do like the feel of a sword in my hands and whenever I feel it, I'll put it to good use." The Night King made for his sword, but not until Brienne had stabbed him with Jaime's sword. It was to no avail. Laughing sinisterly, he grasped the hilt of Brightroar and pulled it out of himself. He wasn't even hurt.

Brienne's eyes grew large and as she prepared herself for imminent death, someone jumped between them. It wasn't Jaime. It was Jon. In one smooth move, he took her sword – Oathkeeper – out of its sheath and into the Night King's heart. If he had one, that was. It all happened so quickly but Brienne clearly saw it flaming bright before it was buried inside the icy foe. The Night King looked surprised, angered, and then he was no more. He crumbled to pieces in front of her very eyes and with him his entire army….

"My Lord, my King …" she said. "It was you after all. It was you all along."

He smiled at her. "But not my sword," he said. "Yours was forged from the sword of the man who was my father, both by love and by blood. It was the sword of a roaring lion, but it was not Brightroar."

"It was Oathkeeper," she whispered. "That Jaime's father forged for him but he gifted to me."

"Yes," he said. "It was paid for by blood and love, though not a woman's love. But Eddard Stark's."

"The dragon has three heads?" Brienne wondered. "The sword combines the Wolves, the Lions and you yourself… You are the Dragon that wielded it."

Jon's smile was unsure. "I don't know," he said. "I just know that Bran told me, right before we left that there wasn't just the one Lion's sword. That there were three."

"But not Widow's Wail," she said. "It could have been."

"Somehow a sword formerly owned and named by Joffrey Baratheon didn't seem as plausible," he laughed.

Brienne laughed too, hysterically so. All the emotions came pouring out of her. Jon smiled. "It might have had the same result," he said. "I guess we'll never know…"

* * *

Jaime gaped at the both of them. "My sword!" he said. "Not me, but my sword?!"

"Not your sword, my dear," Brienne could not help pointing out. "Not anymore, remember?" She rose her eyebrows and Jaime shook his head at her. "Formerly mine," he said.

"Aye," Jon replied. "Formerly Eddard's."

Jaime nodded. "So Stark's death paid for this one's…" he said, finding it quite unbelievable. "But how?"

Jon frowned. "I think so," he replied. "I don't know how. Perhaps his soul entered the blade, as Nissa Nissa's did once? I can't tell."

"Well, maybe it did," Jaime shrugged. "It would explain why I couldn't hang onto such an honorable blade myself," he quipped, "but handed it to the most honorable person I knew instead. And Joff…. Well, he didn't have it long, now did he? Perhaps he was unworthy of it. Surely its very name would have offended Ned Stark."

"You've carried it quite honorably," his wife said, trying to sooth him. "Though a name change might be prudent."

"I agree," Jon said. "Something with Ice in it, or Fire mayhaps. Something honorable."

"By rights, you should have it," Jaime made himself say, "both swords even. Perhaps melt it back into one again."

"I have a sword," he replied. "The swords are yours. One belonging to Brienne, the other to you. Two swords beating as one." With that he paced away from them.

"Two swords beating as one," Brienne said. "I like that."

Jaime smiled at her. "I never had Ned's blessing in life," Jaime said. "It's quite unsettling to have it in death."

"I think you should call it Winter's Wail," Brienne replied. "Surely Spring is coming…"


	26. Spring is here

**Spring is here**

Though many had fallen, the world had been spared another long night. Jon was heralded as a hero but he kept insisting it was the sword. How his father and Bran had guided him, even if he was not real father. Jon reminded people it was not about Houses or blood, but about sacrifice instead. So many lives had been lost, yet good had finally come of it. Spring had come.

* * *

Tyrion had been over the moon that his brother had returned unscathed. Only a few weeks after that, his wife had something to share with him as well. Spring was coming in more ways than one. She had paid the Maester a visit that very morning. "You said it could mean a child, the third rose," Tyrion smiled at her, when she told him. "And it does, our child."

"It will be so happy," Sansa said. "A summer child."

He lay his hands on her pregnant belly. There wasn't much to see yet. Sansa noticed him tearing up. "Tyrion?" she whispered. He shook his head and closed his eyes.

"Don't worry," she said. "We'll get through it."

"I'm not sure," he replied, fighting back tears. "What if the child will hate me for being born? I hated my father."

"You had reason to," she said. "Our child won't."

"No," Tyrion agreed. "We'll make sure of that."

As his wife smiled radiantly back at him, Tyrion knew that Winter no longer reigned.


End file.
